


Chosen By Dawn: Hiraeth

by bunnisangel



Category: Mobile Legends: Bang Bang (Video Game)
Genre: Canon, F/M, Homophobia, Internalised Homophobia, Love Triangles, M/M, MLB, MLBB, Mobile Legends Bang Bang, Period-Typical Underage, Violent, mobile legends - Freeform, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25487434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnisangel/pseuds/bunnisangel
Summary: Interactive novel where you decide what the heroes do through voting.❝Power only comes to those willing to throw away everything.The Land of Dawn has been plunged into chaos by the reawakening of the Nexus, and with it, comes five seats. One for power, one for the earth, one for the soul, one for the truth, and one for the body.Wanted by all in the Land of Dawn. Some worthy, some not. Some more desperate than others. And the victors will barely be recognisable after their journey.❞Canon to the lore of ML(except i added a lot of shit). Also every NSFW, unlike the game. Think GoT.
Relationships: Alucard & Natalia (Mobile Legends: Bang Bang), Alucard/Rafaela (Mobile Legends: Bang Bang), Argus/Rafaela (Mobile Legends: Bang Bang), Lancelot/Odette (Mobile Legends: Bang Bang)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	1. ocean eyes cry stained tears┋Alucard

**Author's Note:**

> Rape, strong language, violence, homophobia/internalised homophobia. I'm not going to give individual warnings for each chapter because that would ruin the revelation.
> 
> This is an interactive novel, meaning the readers can vote on certain chapters and make choices for the characters. We can settle where the results will be posted when we come to that bridge...

**4015 days, 6 hours, 4 minutes, 10 seconds**

The limestone of the monastery gouges out soft light from the moon rays. That was what Alucard thought when he first came here as a child only of eight years, in pain and amongst cries. He had lost his parents, which he would later find out was the arrogant fault of their captain, to the last remanent of the Great War. They were a pack of orcs, the ugly creation of the Abyssal Lord, flat nosed, foul smelling and bow legged. Though most of the dark army were vanquished, they somehow resisted the justice of the Moniyan Empire.

Every second, when Alucard's mind is void of thought, he wanders back to that day, that feeling. One of them ghoulish creatures roughly strapped him into a chair. His ankles, wrists and neck were bound by sharp metal that cut into his flesh if he dare move. The scars are still on his fawn skin, dotted and pinkish.

But he would trade all the scars for what they did to his right hand. He keeps it bandaged, unable to face it whether on the battlefield or alone. Out of sight, out of mind, and that was how he wanted to keep his memories, because whenever he remembers, he drowns in the echo of the pain.

Aurielian's Thousand Legs were a breed of centipede that resided in the darkness of the Abyssal caves. Somehow, the orcs managed to bring it above ground. Each pair of leg is longer than the pair before it, its many body segments totalling up to He can still feel it on his neck, lips and the spiral of his ears. Perhaps he should be thankful that its fangs only dug into his arm. The piercing of his skin stung, but what broke him into sobs and begs were when the poison started spreading. 

It bloated his vessels and turned them charcoal black. The smell of pus, shit and stale air mixed until it induced vomit into the pile. The first two days, the orcs fed him a horrible tasting paste, but beggars couldn't be choosers. But after that, they stopped coming down. Even creatures that ate and slept in shit didn't want to be near that smell. Or perhaps they were too scared to face what the centipede had created. Maybe they could feel their own arm swell in pain where every step of the insect felt like a stab.

It only lasted a few days, far better than the stories he had heard from other survivors, but for a kid, it felt like years. He still remembers that moment clearly. From the pain, he was bordering on unconsciousness. There were loud thuds and shouts from above. A routine occurrence from a group of savages. But he couldn't help thinking that the screams were louder and more agitated. They lasted much shorter than the usual conflict, though he had no energy to spare questioning the oddities around him.

The cellar door was kicked open. He jumped slightly at the thought that perhaps those spawns of the devil had remembered to feed him. But the stature wasn't of the brute and sluggish orcs, rather a light weight, only slightly taller than himself. Though small, the figure reached his side of the room in an alarming pace, faster than anything or anyone he had ever seen. With a quick jab, the centipede that had grown fat from feasting on his blood and flesh was left squirming. Now on its blade, they flung its fat body to the ground. At that time, Alucard had just assumed they had unnaturally long nails. After all, demi-humans were not unordinary in the Imperial Guard. He put no thought into it as all his thought were occupied by how he had been rescued. 

Through tears, he saw his saviour scrunch up her nose from the smell that even orcs didn't want to face. She carried him to a river and washed off what body fluids she could. He couldn't even imagine the stains that would stay on her white clothes. It hurt when his arm touched the cold water. Tried his best, he did to restrain the shivers of pain. He didn't want to cause more problems than he already did. But she didn't seem to mind. She comforted him in soft and hushed tones that juxtaposed the battle prowess she displayed before. 

Until the sun set and the moon came out, she ran while carrying his body back to the monastery where she shoved past other injured survivors that sent glares or gasps of shock to her. Six years later, he is still alive, all because of the heart she has.

"Are you going to keep standing there, boy?"

But what is a boy to do when that heart is being ripped away from him?

"Can I really not stop you?"

Nat finishes tying her laces. He can't see her expression for he was standing by the monastery gates while she is in front of him on the steps, her back turned to him. Without being given an answer, he starts again, "Nat-"

"Come here, boy."

It isn't the answer he wants, but he does as she says. He is now on the same step as her. He has grown much from six years ago. While they had a head of difference before, he was catching up fast. He is almost as tall as the seventeen year old now. Nat cups his hand and places a clutched palm onto his. Only when she opened it, he realised there had been a cold metal trinket within it. It was her hunter batch. Each demon hunter within the two angels' monastery received a unique charm at age fifteen, when they become fully fledged adults, as a sign of trust that they could carry out the angels' good will.

And now, she was giving it to him. A charm that marked her prestige status as a demon hunter.

"I don't understand," Is the purest and simplest expression of truth, "You are not leaving forever... are you?"

As the sentence progressed and with Nat's solemn expression, he figured out the answer for himself, though that answer birthed another, "Why? Did the angels make you do this?"

Nat brushes her knuckles on his cheeks, "They did not, dear boy. This is solely on my own accord."

Alucard takes her hand and grips it, so that the strength might hold his tears back, "Then why?"

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you."

He's becoming more and more desperate, "Why?"

"I have wronged."

Time is slipping away and hopelessness rushes in to fill its space, "What did you do?"

"I cannot tell you either."

"Nat," It comes out as a squeal, through tears. The syllable sounds anguished on his tongue, an emotion he sworn never to feel again. She had given him strength and power so he would never have to be that dying boy in that cellar ever again. Yet he is in front of her, crying his eyes out. And again, there is nothing he can do.

She takes him in her arms and strokes his platinum hair. 

"I don't understand," He croaks again, "Please. Why are you doing this?"

"You are strong without me."

It doesn't seem like it, but since it was coming out of Nat's mouth, he believed it.

"You will be fine alone," She strokes his tears dry, "I promise."

"Where are you going?"

He feels her take a deep breath. 

"I don't know yet."

"Take me with you."

"I can't, boy. You know that. You're still young."

"I'm fourteen!" Alucard argues. That's only one year short of his coming of age.

"Not old enough to leave the Monastery yet. You know the punishment for breaking oath. Stay here and train. Your future is safe as a Hunter."

"I don't want to have a future without you."

She chuckles, "We'll see each other again."

They finally release. So many euphoric emotions erupt when he heard that. He'll see her again. How? When? Where? So many question marks he has, but he's learnt that they will remain as such. There is no probing her. He is simply thankful to have the slightest bit of reassurance. 

"How?"

"We will. I promise."

Alucard tightens his fist over the badge, "Me too."

Nat smiles in amusement. She takes a step down and pulls her hood over her head. He takes one last look at her. The brown leather gloves, the blue strip of fabric lined with gold that segments her white hood, a courageously revealing one piece suit(that she has gotten many disagreements over), thigh high socks and hard leather boots. With one last step backwards into the shadows of the trees, she smiles and disappears completely from his view.

Suddenly, Alucard feels more alone that he ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Project Next recently updated Alucard's backstory to be different. I think the main difference is that Alucard loses his hand after he joins the Monastery of Light, but he does before in my version. I'm not going to change it because the canon backstory is really not good for narrative story telling for various reasons and also I like Natalia/Alucard.


	2. it's our cue┋Rafaela

**2190 days, 18 hours, 38 minutes, 30 seconds**

Rafaela hasn't been liking the air of the Moniyan Empire lately. Sure, she and her counterpart are welcomed with joy and ceremonies, yet she can't help but think this is all a ruse and she is the butt of the joke. It has been like that ever since the old king died. Richard IV, good man. She shouldn't think of thoughts like these but his son, Edward III, throughout his twenty odd years of ruling could never match his father's.

Regardless of what she thought about the ruler, the residents never fail to bring a smile to her face. She waves to her adoring followers from inside the carriage, however dwelling their numbers may be with each visit. Rafaela had noted her observation to Argus once and he solemnly replied with "Least they care about you even if you don't put coins in their pockets."

Her instinct to comfort immediately sought to deny that cynical claim, but she knew he was right. They were given wings by the Lord of Light to bring peace to the land and they have done so. The Empire's healers have become more skilled, and by her own teachings no less. Over the years, there was less demand for Rafaela's attention. 

Though that was nothing compared to Argus. There were still certain illness that were too complex for normal medicine to heal but close to no conflicts that needed Argus's strength. The most were bar fights that could be stopped with a few dozen Imperial Guards. There was no need for Argus's great sword, the Vanquisher.

There was a good chance the current king, Edward III had misread the signs and the two angels need not be disturbed from their mundane life, yet the dreams she has been having lately support his claim. Unsure as she may be, it is worth bringing up if the other option maybe standing in front of the Abyss's lair, unarmed and unarmored. She should pray that there is nothing to worry about, that evil is not returning to the Land of Dawn, yet she can't suppress her desire to be wanted. How sad that their sole reason for existence contradicts the fruits of their labour.

The large trumpets sounded and their carriage stopped. On Argus's side, the door opened. It was always awkward in moments like these, where she was caught doing normal things, if she were to stumble in her step or duck down to get out, maybe the people would see her as one of them and that would be a problem.

The king bows and behind him, his blonde wife and daughter curtsies The angels return the respect with a nod. Edward III gestures to the gates, "Welcome to the Empire, Your Holinesses. I'm afraid you have little time to rest for the situation is urgent."

Argus falls in step with the king and Rafaela trails a step behind them. It was usual for Argus to lead yet the lack of anyone beside her shoulders made her feel vulnerable. She looks down, trying to find solace in the steps behind her. Six hand picked Hunters to guard them. Three of her choosing and three of his. There is no way she could know for sure, but she is certain the steps right behind her is Hunter Alucard. A little too closer than the regular guard but she doesn't mind.

"Fortunately our journey was kind," Argus says. They continue to make small talk and Rafaela's eyes wander. She has been to the castle several times yet it never seized to amaze her how much solid gold they used to build their walls. What purpose did that gold serve? The starving families at the outskirts of town needed just a square of that gold more than the royal family does. Or at least, that's what she would do if she ruled. 

They come to yet another golden double door. The carving was of a tree, it's fruits and flowers of gems.

"Angel Rafaela, you must be tried," The king smiles and bows. She nods back in acknowledge. But before she could deny the claim, he continues to one of the guards, "Show the angel to her room."

She and Argus exchange a look of surprise. 

"Did you not say the situation was urgent?" Argus says.

The king tilted his head, "Yes, it is. But it doesn't concern the angel of healing."

"And why not?" He snaps back.

Argus's tone brings immediate, thick tension to the space. It isn't a good idea to get on the war angel's nerves. Edward III is at the very least, smart enough to know this, so his tone is testing, "Well. It has to do with war and military. Little place for-"

"We are equals, if I'm needed, so is she. Did you invite the both of us here just to consult one?"

With that powerful statement, he walks past the king and into the room. At times like these, she wants to embrace him, show everyone that this man is indeed, hers. She can't help but let a slight, sly smile slip. 

It was a small room, dark and black apart from the table lit up by a large oil lamp. Around the table were all men, commanders from which she only recognised Tigreal, the captain of the Imperial Guard. They stand up as she and Argus enters the room.

Tigreal bows, "Welcome to the Empire, Your Holinesses. We are blessed by your presence."

Argus acknowledges the greeting and calls for them to sit. As the doors close, the man beside Tigreal rolls out a scroll, "Word has come from the Northern outpost that one of the Twilight Orb's fragments have been found."

Rafaela scrunches her brows. The subject of the Century Long War, she thought the Twilight Orb had been vanquished from existence, which is exactly what Argus spells out, "The Twilight Orb? It has been destroyed has it not? Where is the proof you have?"

"The Northerners call it the Heart of Aurora. It turned one of them into a giant."

The king laughed, "Seems the cold, barren wasteland has made the Northerners superstitious people."

Argus's eyes lead the rest upon Rafaela. Unsure, she says, "I have... been having dreams." Which is the truth, but that can't apply to her confidence in them. 

"The Lord of Light... it seems to be from him. The Nexus... is shifting."

In silence, the room takes in her word. There are a lot of implications in her word. Only after a few decades of peace, another period of war has risen again. 

"With all due respect, Your Holiness, you don't seem to be very confident about that prospect," Tigreal's words cut her thoughts. 

Argus frowns, "You dare doubt the words of one of your guardian angels?"

"Of course not, Your Holiness," even though that is exactly what he is doing, "We just don't want to be hasty with our decisions. For now, I will send more people to confirm the situation."

"How long will it take? For message to arrive?" Rafaela worryingly bites her lip. If the supposed 'Heart of Aurora' is a fragment of the Twilight Orb, it may fall into the wrong hands. Corrupt people are the prime target for the Abyss's influence.

"About two weeks, Your Holiness," The man beside Tigreal says, "A week and a half if the winds are with them."

Tigreal adds on, "Is there anything we need to know about the Twilight Orb's powers? Or its fragments?"

"The Orb itself is made from five gems," Argus recounts. Rafaela remembers the time well. Before the Great War, a time that is left barren in history books by design, the few people that knew about the gems scrambled to seek it. Even individually, each piece held enough power to be fought over. 

"Each are made from each of the five main continents. We only managed to find one: Azrya's gem of the earth. The others fell into the wrong hands and..."

Rafaela tries to follow his recollection, but there seems to be a gap in her memory. They came together, that's what the Century Long War, or the War for the Twilight Orb referenced. But... how did they come together? A throbbing headache bubbles to the surface as a painful rejection of her grasp at her own memories. 

"And?" Tigreal repeats

"We cannot remember," Rafaela admits, and that admittance turns into worry. Why can't they remember?

Argus nods, "But if each gem were made from the five major continents, that's where they will return. The Heart of Aurora is likely Nost-Northern Vale's gem."

"And if what the writings say are true," she regurgitates the words of the Nexus that have been drilled into her mind by her gem seeking days, "One for the body, the soul, the truth, healing and power. That must have been the gem for the body."

With every word, the reality that this is the start of a second war is becoming more and more plausible. A wonder that the king is not doing all he can to prepare for it.

"Yes, and as Tigreal says, we will send more scouts to confirm the sightings," He says, "We wouldn't want to cause unnecessary panic to the kingdom. The people deserve a few more years of peace at the very least."

 _And they deserve a king who takes threats seriously,_ Rafaela wants to say but bites her tongue. Argus seems to have noticed her disagreement because he sympathetically and worryingly meets her deadpan gaze.

"Thank you for your attention, Your Holinesses. Please, enjoy the feast tonight," Edward III says as he and his men file out of the room.


	3. bleeding from paper cuts┋Alucard

**2190 days, 10 hours, 32 minutes, 40 seconds**

The hall is filled with the smell of roasted chicken, sweet wine and freshly baked bread. The first few times Alucard has followed the angels as a guard, the smell was torturous. His senior told him to eat his fill before the banquet, and his regret is not following her orders to the fullest. 

Now, all he can think of is the sole, lonely angel seated on an elevated platform. Between her and the royal couple, a seat meant for her counterpart is empty. An odd ten minutes ago, the angel Argus had left his seat, drunk, to mingle with the maids. His hand is on her ass while the other is holding a mug of beer. They are laughing and shuffling to the panpipes. 

Alucard flicks his gaze from Argus to his angel, Rafaela. As much as she is trying to hide her discontent, it bleeds through anyway. Her lips are slightly downturned and she has a hazy look in her eyes. Unable to continue watching his angel in that state, he broke his post.

"Hey," he hears one of his seniors call in a surprised whisper as he walks past her, "Hey!" She tries again, and likewise, he ignores it. He is willing to take whatever punishment he'll receive though he prays that Argus does not see him approach his angel. 

He bows from behind where she sat so that his lips were close enough to her ears for him to whisper. She slightly jumps at his voice, "You look tired, my angel."

"Oh, do I?" She says with curious surprise.

"Yes, a little. Shall I accompany you back to your room?"

She nods, "Yes. Thank you, Hunter Alucard."

He chest swells a little when she says his name. They walk up the winding spiral staircase in silence. He will be lying if he says he doesn't wish the stairs would last forever.

"Would be a lot easier if the width were long enough for my wings," His angel comments offhandedly. 

It catches him off guard and he thinks about what to say for too long. By the time he came to a decision with 'I see', they have reached her door. He silently curses at himself for sabotaging himself, yet again. Too many times this has happened.

His angel turns around and with a smile that could make all his worries disappear, she thanks him. Just as her hand touches her door's handle, Alucard pushes himself to speak up with the pretence that he may never have this chance again, "Will you be alright, my angel?"

"Hm?"

"I only meant..." He curses silently again. He doesn't know how to speak, "You will be here alone."

She smiles, "I appreciate your worry for me, Hunter Alucard. I feel safe knowing you will come to my aid when need be."

He knows she is simply pointing out one of the two most important oaths that a Hunter takes, yet he can't help but feel flustered. He catches himself staring at her for two long and quickly averts his eyes, "Of course, my angel. That is my duty."

That comes out a little faster than he means it, but as usual, his angel Rafaela gives a good natured smile. _What need for magic with that smile?_ He thinks as she waves him good night and closes the door. 

Alucard is left smiling like an idiot in front of a closed door, only to be ripped from his euphoria by a hand. Argus grips his throat and shoves him backwards into the wall. He faces the other angel with a deadpan expression, masking his guilt for stepping out of line and the pain of the chokehold. 

He's never been Argus's favourite Hunter. Nat had a distaste for him and it influenced him as did most things. But Argus returned that disdain a lot strongly than he did to Nat. Alucard isn't stupid enough to realise it had to do with his angel, Rafaela. 

Argus's tone is low enough to not each his angel. Though she will not allow Alucard to be killed, she is far too occupied to go out of her way to make sure he is free of bruises, "What is a guard to do when there is no trouble?"

A rhetorical question.

"Well?" He hisses.

"To stand without question-"

"To stand. Without question," Argus narrows his eyes, "Did you have a need to bring her to her chambers?"

Alucard averts his eyes to the floor, "My oath swears to ensure my angel Rafaela's comfort."

"Are you a guard or her handmaiden?"

He chooses to stay quiet on this one. 

Argus shakes him, "Well?"

"A guard. Angel," His tone doesn't drip with admiration though the expected "angel" was sprinkled for damage control. He prays Argus doesn't take notice. 

Thankfully, he doesn't. The war angel releases him and with one last look of disgust he says, "If you ever come closer to my woman than need be, I will have your head on a spike for all to see. The punishment for defiance."

Argus closes his room door and finally, Alucard presses on his bruises to relieve them.


	4. caught between the devil┋Rafaela

**2189 days, 20 hours, 3 minutes, 48 seconds**

"Where is Hunter Alucard?" Rafaela asks when she only counts five Hunters.

"He says he has some personal matters, angel Rafaela," The blonde party leader named Lalisa says.

"Oh."

She isn't one to get road sick, but ten minutes into the ride, she feels a sickening nausea. She presses her temples without avail.

"Rafaela?" Argus worryingly inquires. She doesn't respond in the fear that moving about will make it all the worse. 

"Halt!" She hears him order though his voice sounds distant, further than he is. Argus's hands grip her. Every 'Rafaela' sounds more and more distant, until all fades away into a small room of grey stone. 

Each of its six walls are the same grey stone apart from one. No moss, no cobwebs, no sign of life or windows, just that hard rock. In the middle of the room is a glowing ball of orange energy. It is dim, barely being able to illuminate the corners. The surface opposite of where Rafaela is standing is a cell. Though, there is no lock. 

Because the prisoner is never meant to get out.

Rafaela pushes herself back against the wall behind her, away from those bars though she can never rip her eyes away. She starts breathing heavily, then hyperventilating. How did she get here? And more importantly, how does she get out of a place that is build to trap its inhabitant? 

After what it seems to be minutes and she had time to pace her breath, a rattling of chains spikes her heart rate. 

"Well, well..." A whisper comes from the cell. She recognises that voice, and she recognises those claws that just grasped the bar. Finally, the owner of those hands slowly emerges from the darkness. The Molten Essence is barely enough to light up her features but her pinkish-purple eyes are glowing.

"Cat got your tongue?" The Demon Queen smirks, "Nothing without her boy toy. Useless as ever."

"Alice..."

"Yes, I have the courtesy to keep my birth name. Unlike the two of you."

Rafaela has the courage to frown, "What are you scheming?"

"Scheming?" The Demon Queen repeats, then laughs. Chuckles at first, which then turn into rolling, mocking laughter, "Your Lord's essence is dying! And mine grows stronger with every second!"

She shakes the bars with every sentence, "I'm coming for you. I'm coming for you. I'm coming for you!" 

Her words grow more hysterical, and the room shakes with her madness. "I'm coming for you!" Echoes and reverberates and bounces off the stones walls. The Molten Essence's light drains until it becomes a grey ball of glass. It cracks under the pressure of Alice's demonic voice. Rafaela's eyes are helpless. She can't do anything but watch the cracks conquer the sphere and it shatters. 

Alice's chanting is even more deafening now. The only thing between her and Alice is now shattered. The Demon Queen starts pounding her fists onto the bar. Each hit inches the bar closer to Rafaela. 

"I'M COMING FOR YOU! I'M COMING FOR YOU! I'M COMING FOR YOU!"

The bars close in on Rafaela enough so that she can see Alice's crazed face clearly. One hand is still pounding while the other stretches out in anticipation. Rafaela presses herself as flat as she can onto the wall, but it can't escape the Demon Queen's grasping claws.

Rafaela jerks awake. The first thing she recognises, before her eyes can fully decide whether the ceiling is familiar is Argus's voice calling her name. In his arms, she feels safe again.

He picks her up onto his lap, "What happened?"

"Al- The Demon Queen. I saw her."

Argus takes a few seconds to respond, "In a vision?"

"It... didn't feel like a vision. No, it wasn't by the Lord of Light," she clutches her head. The Monastery is a sanctuary from evil, yet she can't help but to feel those dark corners in the room were an accomplice in the Demon Queen's evil schemes. "It was she herself who summoned me." 

"Rafaela-"

"We need to go now," she decides. She stands up from Argus's embrace. It is dark out. At least a few hours have past, but the sun isn't completely hidden. 

"Go where?"

"Retrieve Northern Vale's fragment. The Northerners are savages. Who knows what they will do with it? We need to depart _now_ , Argus."

Argus sighs, "I'll call upon the senior Hunters. How many do we need?"

"Five. We need to move fast."

"Alright."

As he goes to leave to the room, Rafaela can't help herself from asking, "Is Alu- Hunter Alucard back yet?"

She realises Argus's destain for the young boy though never understood why. From what she knew, he was a talented Hunter that took his oath in protecting them seriously. She admits at least part of her liking towards him is because of his relation to Natalia, yet another noble Hunter. Regardless, she can never meet eye to eye with Argus on this.

"I will call upon him if he has returned."

* * *

**2189 days, 7 hours, 20 minutes, 48 seconds**

He hasn't returned. She will be lying if she said she isn't disappointed.

"Please, take me with you, angel Argus!"

Lalisa is her name. Rafaela hasn't seen anyone lead more missions than her.

"You need to stay here in our absence," Argus replies. There are already five Hunters on the ready.

"I'll be more useful than any of them! I'm much more experienced-"

"Which is why I need you here," Argus mounts his horse, "To lead. The Hunters are to do as you say. Every word. I've signed the order. Any who doesn't will face punishment."

Finally, Lalisa bows, "I will command them as you wish, angel Argus."

Rafaela playfully smiles as Argus's horse trots to fall in line with hers, "You play favourites too, Argus."

"That isn't playing favourites. Hunter Lalisa is very capable."

"So is Hunter Alucard."

"He is an insolent child. And so was that girl he followed everywhere. Must've gotten it from her."

She laughs. The Monastery is a depressing place. A glorified orphanage and orphans aren't rainbows and roses. It's rare to see a bond that is as wholesome as them two, "I quite like that quick mouth of his."


	5. memories that are being washed away┋Alucard

**2189 days, 22 hours, 33 minutes, 16 seconds**

Lalisa dabs ointment onto his bruises. 

"Do you have a death wish?" She sounds tired. At some point after his fourth or fifth time getting under Argus's nerves, she's started growing weary. _It isn't all my fault_ , he thinks. Argus just seems to find trouble with everything he does.

"What did you do to make the angel Argus hate you so much?" Ryan snickers as he runs his fingers across his newly attained curved dagger, "Your pseudo big sister got in trouble a lot too. Not as much as you though."

From his periphery, Alucard sees Lalisa's eyes flicker towards Ryan. Out of all the Hunters in their party, it's his luck that puts him with the most annoying one possible.

He continues, "You remember Liz? That big ego of hers always got in trouble. Thank the angels the Imperial Guard commander doesn't have a vendetta against her."

"Ryan," Lalisa snaps quitely.

Stupidly, he ignores her, "She's probably getting killed trying to retrieve-"

He finally catches himself and stops. Alucard eyes him, "Trying to retrieve what?"

"Alucard," Lalisa places a hand on his shoulder, which he roughly shrugs it off. With passion that makes Ryan cower, Alucard pushes his colleague back into a wall.

His voice is low. Dangerous, but not malicious, "Aren't you going to finish that sentence?"

Ryan grimaces. 

"He will not," Lalisa replies for him. Her tone is firm. As brash as Alucard is, he knows not to challenge her authority. 

He strides towards the door before she can tell him otherwise, "Tell our good angels I have personal matters to attend to. I won't be accompanying them back."

"Stop. I order you," Her tone then trails off into a more desperate begging, "Please. Ryan and I will both pay for this. You don't have to do this. Alucard!"

 _Natalia_ , is all he can think about at that very moment, and maybe all other moments.


	6. a ball to draw swords┋Silvanna

**2189 days, 13 hours, 30 minutes, 47 seconds  
**

"Did you see the angels last night?" Darcey, her playmate, asks. Below where they sat was the large dirt patch of the jousting ring. The fences have been removed for the sword fighting tournament. The two swordsmen were terrible. Even Silvanna, who has to train with a sword in hiding could best both of them at the same time.

"Yes. Where were you?"

"Had to help my pops get one of the Demon Hunters a new blade. So how were they?"

"How were they what?"

"The angels? Were they nice?"

One of the men finally knocks the other to the dirt. There are no cheers. Half the crowd has lost interest.

"I don't know. The healing angel sat on her chair and stared off into space. Don't think she even ate."

"What about the justice angel?"

Silvanna frowned. She is only fifteen, yet even she knows of the dirt and filth that are whores. The divine angels, of all in the realm, shouldn't be rolling around with them, "He was with a maid."

"With a maid...?" Darcey murmurs, confused. Truly, it has to be seen to be believed.

The jester calls, "Ser Lancelot of House Boruque."

Her heart skips a beat. House Boruque is one of the oldest and greatest houses in Moniyan, known best for their long lineage of skilled swordsmen and rarely, swordswomen. While other girls look up to gentle maidens that seduce princes with their quiet charm, Silvanna's heroes are knights and fighters. Undoubtedly her favourite is Agnes Boruque, who is the best swordswomen in history. She wielded one of two house Boruque's ancient swords, Cecilion, a longsword as compared to its sister, Carmilla, a rapier that Agnes' twin brother used. Together, they led their house into conquering its neighbouring lands four hundred years ago.

"He really does look like a woman," Darcey says. 

After the many praises sung for his swordsmanship, there are whispers, not songs as no one dares to sing a loud, that can get a peasant's head lobbed off their head: the heir to the great house Boruque knows every young man in the kingdom. Silvanna has heard another version of this from Darcey where the lord of house Boruque summoned a witch to turn his firstborn into a man. She has always brushed off these tales to be far exaggerations, as stories often happen about nobles.

But now that she's seen him for the first time, she reconsiders the truth of these stories. Ser Lancelot has curvy golden hair, pink skin and a slim, thin waist that every woman starved themselves for. If he were given a gown instead of a sword, he could very well possibly be the most wanted lady in the nation. Even in this ring alone, he is prettier than all the perfumed ladies. Silvanna watches him carefully. His armour is extravagant. Too many feathers, elaborately worked metals and a thick cloak that drags in the dirt behind him. His armour is more fit for a bride than a fighter, yet he moves with ease to parry his opponent's first strike, and without giving him time to recover, he stabs his rapier into his chest. The man toppled backwards onto his rear end. 

"Yield! I yield!" He begs, his hands raised to protect his face.

The crowd hollers at his victory. Silvanna shifts in her seat. He moves as if his armour weighs nothing at all, far faster than the usual knights she watches train in secret.

His next two opponents receive the same short lived duel as the first. The last knight to face him though, fares a little better than the last. He manages to strike off the pale blue decorative cloth that hung from Lancelot's right chest. The crowd gasps as it drops to the ground. Finally, his cocky smile has been removed. In its place is rage.

"Say," The Boruque seethes, "Do you have family? A wife? A son?"

The ring is quiet in anticipation of the man's response. Slowly, he does, "A wife and two daughters, milord. I-I'm participating so that I may feed them this month."

"I see," Lancelot says slyly. Without warning, he starts beating the man with the flat of his blade. Every strike rips into his skin, drawing blood and screams of "I yield!" A scream comes from the crowd. A woman rushes into the ring, only intercepted and pulled back by guards.

"I'm sorry, milord," the woman cries, "My husband doesn't mean to offend you. P-please milord, let him go!"

Lancelot looks at her, then back to the bloodied man on the ground. With a final kick, Lancelot sends him away, "See that this oaf pays for my cloth in full."

"Thank you! Thank you, milord!" The woman is crying as she receives her husband.

He turns back to the ring, confident as ever, waiting for another challenge. When none comes, the jester announces him the winner. As customary of tournaments, he is given the chance to name a bride. This practice have become so popular among young men that it is almost expected for a love struck lad to train for many moons until he is skilled enough to win a tournament. Only then, will he be eligible for marriage. 

The ring is silent. Silvanna suddenly becomes every aware of herself. This is why he came to the capital, isn't it? To have travelled two weeks from Castle Gorge, only to participate in a tournament that she attended. Many in the crowd have also came to the same conclusion. Their eyes flicker from her to the silent heir. She knows she has to marry eventually, and the house where her hero came from is surely a desirable choice. She has seen Lancelot's skill firsthand and is utterly impressed. She may even inherit their broadsword, Cecilion, which hasn't had an owner since Agnes. The thought of her sword fighting with her husband, an activity she has to do covert because of her father's interdict, made the answer even clearer.

Their eyes meet for a second. Her mother had told her she will feel flutters when looking at a handsome boy at this age on the account that no one has caught her interest. Silvanna never believed her, but she does now. She smiles, inviting him to take a step towards her.

But the step never came. 

"My apologies if the ladies in the crowd feels personally attacked by my decision," he doesn't look at Silvanna but it is obvious he is referring to her, "But no one here is worthy of my hand. I wouldn't want to bed a woman who is uglier than me."

With that, Silvanna's first encounter with her infatuation concludes.


	7. tears of a silver child┋Rafaela

Suddenly I am underwater. Not drowning, though not breathing as water is air either. I have always been afraid of the depths. Tricky thing, it is. If my light allows me to see all and my wings take me to all the places, there is nothing I can see and nowhere I can go deep down where mermaids live. Yet this place is strangely comforting.

Oh. It's because of that.

On the bed rock, entangled with seaweed, within the curled fingers of a pale hand. I don't want to look, but it's as if an outside force is at play. My eyes can't help but run down the length of the arm to its body.

A naked boy that is all too familiar. He stares right at her with his dead eyes. Then with a croak, he whispers, "Rafaela."

Even underwater, I can feel tears running down my cheeks. I want to hold him, comfort him, stitch his body back together but I can't get move. The sun, the moon and the earth are in my way and I don't have the strength to destroy it.

But he says, "It isn't the sun, the moon and the earth."

"Then what is it?" I strain back.

He doesn't give me an answer. He keeps repeating, "Rafaela, Rafaela, Rafaela...

Rafaela! Are you alright?" She is in Argus's arms.

**2187 days, 10 hours, 28 minutes, 37 seconds**

Rafaela sits up. It's already dawn. He pushes her hair out of her eyes, "You do not seem fit for travel. You should rest. You can still turn back."

She shakes her head, "No, I wouldn't like that. What happened?"

"You fell off your horse. Would be quite ironic if the angel of healing was sick."

She scoffs, "No, I'm not. I had a vision."

"Alice?"

"No, just... a regular vision this time. Feels like it is Amaroth albeit I am not too sure."

Argus takes a small breath in, "Yes, our Lord of Light does have an... affinity to you when it comes to visions."

Quite an understatement. Argus has never gotten visions before even though they were both equally capable of receiving. He's good at dealing with injustice of others but himself is an entirely different matter.

"We'll camp here," Argus orders the five Hunters who had been waiting obediently for orders, "Do tell of your visions, Rafaela."

She curls her fingers in the palm of another, "I saw Nost Gal's gem. Or Heart of Aurora as the northerners call it. It was submerged underwater."

"As things do in Nost Gal. Anything else?"

"...No," Rafaela decides to leave out the part that truly shook her to her core. It isn't worth forcing him, too, to relive when they are in such desperate times.

He sighs, "Quite a distressing situation. So we find the Heart of Aurora. Then what?"

She hasn't thought about it. Then what, indeed. Argus continues, "I am not so confident the northerners will willingly hand over a fragment of the Twilight Orb."

Rafaela looks down at her hands. She knows what he is implying; their five hunters are scarce and won't be in an ideal condition after two weeks of riding. Depending on which clan has hold of the fragment, the two might barely be enough to come out victorious.

She has no answer. So she stays quiet. She watches the Hunters draw lots on which time of day they would keep watch or rest. The lucky two that can rest at night, when they aren't on horse back, cheers childishly. They playfully kid with each other.

Rafaela remembers these are children, barely past their rite of passage, stripped away of their innocence because of a war two beings they will never meet started. And what was Rafaela doing at their age?

Rolling around in green grass, skipping stones, baking sweet bread. She scrunches her face. Happy memories that end in tragedy are worse than sorrowful ones. Even now, she still remembers his cheerful voice saying "Jill".

Her reminiscence is interrupted by a presence. Rafaela jerks around. Argus calls her name and she doesn't respond. Not yet. She has to be sure. The Scourer appears in her left hand. From the heavens, she calls. She feels the light materialise into an inverted tear drop, then plunge down as if it weighs a thousand elephants.

Her guiding light opens her eyes to the spy. A young brunette boy. Spooked, he runs. Rafaela's swings sprout out on her command. Her light chases its target, no matter where they run. He only manages a few meters before he feels the burn on his shoulder blade. Rafaela ceases her opportunity to opportunity as he falls to the dirt before her. She raises the Scourer up high. From its center piece jewel, blinding rays of light shoot outwards. They sweep forward, burning the ground. At the last second, the boy disappears. The shadow of his place is charred.

She scouts around her in panic. Once again, she calls upon heavenly light to track him, but there is nothing in her circle of vision.

"Brunette wearing grey! Track him down! He can't be far," she hears Argus say.

Two of the Hunters mount their horse into a gallop.

"Keep in touch," Rafaela tells one that rides past her.

"Rafaela, it it best to depart."

She nods. Who could've been in this demon infested area at this hour? Their leave was hasty. The little people that know where they are couldn't have caught up in this time. They barely rested in the two days.

"Do you think it's one of Al- the Demon Queen's?" Rafaela worriedly inquires. 

"I don't think so. Men have will and no man would willingly serve her."

She hopes her counterpart is wise and right.


	8. the poetic nature of death┋Lancelot

**2189 days, 3 hours, 3 minutes, 19 seconds**

There is a knock on his guest room door. Before Lancelot Boruque can snap his tongue at a servant for disturbing him, the familiar voice of his squire calls, "It's Gusion."

"Come in."

The Paxley comes in to see a young lowborn boy unbuckling Lancelot's golden armour in front of a mirror. To its very last second on himself, he shall see his handsome metal cloth on his own handsome self. A pity that there are few opportunities to wear the most beautiful set in the kingdom when the pompous ladies get to wave their ugly skirts every day.

"Already replaced me, I see," Gusion leans back onto the wall with an arm crossed. 

Lancelot rolls his eyes. He orders the lad to leave them, "If you fancy your job as a glorified handmaiden so much then come, help me out of my armour. She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Gusion chuckles, but does as he's told. Quite a shame that he refuses to apply that obedience to biting his sharp tongue, "Yes, very beautiful. Though I think a gown would suit your physique more."

"Hm, how original. How many tongues do you think I've ripped out for that? Be thankful you aren't a lowborn. But yes. I can wear a dress better than any of the horrendous looking... _women_ in court. Even whores are prettier. Did you manage to catch my tourney?"

"I was there for your last opponent," he smirks in amusement, "Quite a speech. If I were you, I'd have given it to the blonde princess."

Lancelot tilts his chin up, "Thank the angels you're not me. Where did you run off to even?"

"Actually, I've got a piece of news for you."

"Is it good or bad? If it's bad, I don't want to hear it."

"Bittersweet."

"Is that what you went to do? Receive bittersweet news?"

Gusion tosses the heavy fur cape onto the bed, "Quite right."

"And here I thought you died in a ditch somewhere. Was prepared to send a manhunt for you."

"I'm touched by your thoughtfulness. I turn fifteen this harvest. My parents want me to be released of my services to you."

Lancelot exchanges eyes with him in the mirror. He quite enjoys the Paxley's company. More so than any of his cousins or lowborn playmates. Perhaps it is because of their similar age or status or boyish youth. Regardless, Lancelot isn't the most relieved to part with someone who've grown close to over the course of nearly a decade. Eight years, to be exact. That was when Gusion's father brought him to the Boruque's court in order to forge good relations between their great houses. Flawless plan, really.

He puts a hand on Gusion's shoulder, "Then, one last time. Let's drink together. Drinks are on me."

* * *

**2189 days, 6 hours, 33 minutes, 50 seconds**

Lancelot slams an empty wine mug onto the table. The daughter of the innkeeper cheers and plants a kiss of his cheek. Lancelot's vision is getting blurry. His hands don't work as well as they usually should. Nor his legs or head. His past squire hits on the opposite end of the table, weary but still smiling. Unlike himself, Gusion doesn't indulge in the sweetness of wine nor women, which Lancelot thought was a shame considering he is still a young and capable man.

"Drink more!" The innkeeper's pretty daughter encouraged. He knows she simply wants more coin from a noble like him, perhaps even his lucky lowborn mistress, that is why she wears her neckline low until it edges above her nipples. A dirty tactic but that works. Even in his drunken state, he has the decency to stop himself from peeling her under tunic. 

"I shall be going," Gusion stands up, "You should too. Your little sister is returning tomorrow, isn't she?" 

"But I haven't had my fill yet," the blonde Boruque heir protests, "If the Reginas took advantage of their rich wine harvest, they might even be richest than my own house." 

He bows, "I hope you do eventually, my lord-"

"Lancelot," He corrected, "I'm not your lord anymore."

"Then I will be going, _Lancelot,_ " Gusion nods to Lancelot's guards, "See that he doesn't do anything reckless while tipsy."

 _Would be a challenge_ , he thinks as he is brought another mug. He's gotten into many antics throughout the years of drinking and whoring, much to his father's dislike. But so far, he hasn't been presented with any problem his heirloom sword, Cecilion couldn't slice through. Or if he somehow loses it, Cecilion's sister sword, a long broadsword named Carmilla, will suffice.

Mug, by mug, he drinks, laughing into the good night, only stopping when he is drunk to the point of feeling like the ground is slanting. He pushes the girl, lightly at first, as an indication that he wants to stand up. Then she doesn't.

 _The audacity of a peasant to disobey a lord's orders_ , the thought rages him. Much harder than before with his knightly strength. She crashes onto the floor and when she turns around, her looks is of surprise and betrayal. That enrages him even more. How dare she think it is his fault for fairly removing her from his path? Peasants have lost their life for less.

"Why did you do that?" She demands. Perhaps she does deserve to lose her life. 

Lancelot unsheathes Cecilion. The rapier gleams in the inn's many lamp lights. He raises it above his head to prepare for a strike. As if by magic, his target's face morphs into fear. That is what Lancelot likes most about duels. He gets to witness pride transform into terror in a matter of seconds. He swings it down...

Only to be parried by another rapier. The wine cripples him more than he had expected. He turns to face the opponent. The girl quickly scurries away. _I'll deal with her later_ , he thinks. First, he has to get rid of this musketeer in black. His cavalier hat covers his eyes. 

"It isn't chivalrous to hurt a lady. Surely, anyone with a sword like yours would know that," He slyly says.

"How dare you..." Lancelot stumbles. One of his guards catch him to which he pushes away with annoyance. His patience is wearing thin. He tries away, "How dare you challenge me? Do you know who I am? I am Lancelot Boruque of-"

"Yes, the lady of the great house Boruque," the musketeer completes sarcastically. There are a few chuckles from the inn. 

Lancelot grits his teeth, "The people who laughed! I'll have your head!"

The musketeer scoffs, "If I haven't yours first, _my lord_."

He strikes, much more agile than Lancelot expects. Thankfully, he barely manages to parry it. Their rapiers clink together. For the first time in his life, he is on the defensive. Again, it is entirely the wine's fault. If Lancelot was fighting sober, this peasant swordsman would be crouching, begging for mercy. He is driven back, every hard strike the black musketeer lands is rewarded with a cheer. Few at first, but eventually, the entire inn is cheering along. As much as he upholds his ego, he will gladly sacrifice that for his flawless.

Except when he has half a second to look over, his two guards have been plummeted to the ground by the crowd. That two second he takes to reconsider his decision is all his opponent needs to kick him out of the inn window. Shattered glass beds his bloodied body. He has a throbbing headache to mirror his physical state. The black musketeer jumps out of the broken window in a swift motion. The cold metal of his rapier tips Lancelot's chin. 

The crowd behind him that has poured out of the inn starts to chant. Softly at first, but as crowds do, grows louder with every word, "Kill him! Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!"

They only fade when the black musketeer retracts his steel, "A quick death is too merciful for a tyrannical noble. Let him bleed to death. Let his pain fester so that he may feel what us, lowborns, suffer every waking second."

His pathetic speech earns him an even louder roar.

"Beat him up and take his possessions," Is the last thing Lancelot hears before he disappears into the approaching crowd.

With his final strength, he turns over and buries his face tightly into his arms. He feels each blow to his stomach, legs and shoulders individually. Sight truly rules over the others and now without its gluttonous presence, the others rush in tenfold to take its vast space.

They take his heirloom swords, both the rapier Cecilion and the broadsword Carmilla that he wishes he had the chance to use more. Eventually, they grow bored, after everyone has had their turn spitting and cursing him. 

His vision is blurred and his body is getting even more weary. The moon looks down on him with pity.

_Is this how the great house Boruque ends? Will Father remarry for a male heir? Unlikely._

A figure approaches him. It isn't any of the innsmen before. It has a lean figure with golden hair, milk skin and pink lips. He squints. The figure looks exactly like him, albeit in a gown and not a sword like many adversaries riddle him for.

He has always thought the Lord of Light is a myth made up by madmen, but now, in his death, he believes them. He doesn't know whether this is a punishment or a rebirth. Is this figure him in his next life? Where he is able to fulfil his destiny of being the prettiest maiden in the land? Or is it mocking him? A manifestation of ridicules that he has beheaded many for, only to come back even stronger like a weed.

He closes his eyes. He is ready to accept the Lord of Light's punishment or praise, whatever it is.

_Come angel, take me away._


	9. the lost get found┋Alucard

**2189 days,** **13 hours, 30 minutes, 2 seconds**

Alucard has never understood the point of tourneys. Two men who've never held a sword up til this point treat it as if it were a metal stick to hit each other until one yells "Yield". Perhaps it is simply him being pretentious. After all, not everyone has received training under the Monastery of Light.

"The Commander will see you now." 

Alucard leaves his post perching over the tournament ring. The golden ceiling are high, endowed with decorative patterns. Tigreal's room is at the very end of the long hallway, prefaced by double doors.

He swings the doors open. The commander frowns, "Did no one teach you the decency to knock?"

He wants to return a snide remark but opts to bite his tongue. 

"I do not want to waste more time than I already have so I will get to the point."

"How thoughtful of you," Tigreal's tone is flat but not sarcastic. Nobles have a way with words.

"You knew Natalia."

Tigreal flicks his eyes up in caution, "Yes, we were colleagues a few years back."

"I am worried about her. I want to save her." 

"From what I know, she's very capable. If I may ask, what has prompted all this worry?"

He ignores the question, both because he has very little patience for certain people's antics and for the benefit of his fellow Hunters, "Do not play dumb with me, knight. I know you had something to do with her exile. Why did you order her to leave?"

Tigreal closes his eyes, "I would like to correct you on that. I had no part in her _self_ exile-"

"But you know why she left," Alucard completes for him. 

They stare at each other, a game of power. Whoever breaks first kneels to the other and Alucard isn't about to give in.

"A knight keeps his vows. I cannot break my vow of silence."

He promised himself to keep his cool but something about that sentence pushes the Hunter over the edge, "Then you must be the worst knight ever."

"Excuse me?"

"I know little about the chivalry that comes with being a knight but even I doubt letting your ego in the way of your comrades' lives is very knightly."

"Alucard, I couldn't be more sorry-"

"If you are truly sorry, make amends. Requite for my parents' lives. It is only fitting."

Alucard's posture remains relaxed yet firm, far from what he is feeling on the inside. Heat bubbles in his own cauldron, bubbling up worry and hope from the depths. Tigreal breaks eye contact, making him shiver just a little. The possibility of living with the little information he knows, so close yet so far. He can't possibly live like that. 

"Alright," the commander says.

Not fully comprehending the implication, perhaps due to sheer relief, he parrots, "Alright?"

"I will tell you what you need to find her, and nothing more."

"That is fine by me."

"Her destination is the Abyss."

Alucard expects an elaboration, but Tigreal does not say more, "What?"

"That is all you need to find her, is it not?"

"But," Alucard first thought is how much danger she would be in, and his second thought is, "The Abyssal cliffs are unscalable."

"The Crack isn't the only way down to the Blood Demon Queen's lair."

"Then-"

"That will be all. Good luck on your journey, Hunter Alucard."

* * *

 **2189 days,** **22 hours, 10 minutes, 6 seconds**

"You are back."

Lalisa is standing by the gates, one hand on the limestone pillar carved in the shape of his angel Rafaela, and another on her curved dagger. 'Whistle' is what she calls it. There is a rolled up parchment in her belt that hadn't been there before.

He bows as is expected of a junior to a senior, be it empty of meaning, "Have you seen my angel, Rafaela?"

"I have. And she left."

"What?"

"Did you not hear me? She left."

Alucard considers waiting until she is back to pay his respects. The three years after his adulthood where he can roam as he likes, had been spent near the Monastery to be close to his angel. He doesn't want to part like this, "When will she be back?"

"Not in a while, I suppose."

"But, can I have an estimate?"

"No."

Alucard can feel irritation burning in his throat, "With all due respect, Hunter Lalisa, surely you are able enough to give me a broad timeframe?"

She flicks her eyes towards him. She is never outright malicious but her aura of threat never stops engulfing her presence. Ignorant as Alucard may be, he does not underestimate her authority, "Do you doubt me?"

He doesn't want to bow his head just yet, so he doesn't speak. Sighing, she withdraws the scroll from her belt. He immediately recognises Argus's seal. Silver lines a simplified version of his head piece shaped from red wax.

A quick skim through the text tells him that she had been given authority by Argus to rule in the angels' place. Lalisa rolls it back up when Alucard straightens his back as a subtle sign he was done reading. 

"I see. I will head out now. Send my angel Rafaela my regards when she arrives."

He steps away from the temporary head of the Monastery, only turning back when she says, "Hunter Alucard. Not my angel, _the_ angel."


	10. two caliginous mornings┋Guinevere

**2188 days, 9 hours, 45 minutes, 8 seconds**

So this was what it is. The fumbling about when they are supposed to be still, speaking when not spoken to, averting their eyes from what she now knows is guilt. Her neat rows of sumptuous hair clips, from violet to royal blue in a smooth gradient, kept on top a display cabinet, look different from when she had last seen six years ago. It is only a minor detail, easy to miss if it is one’s first, twice, fourth or tenth time. But this is hers. Her own possessiveness sharpened her memory so that she may notice. 

“How dare you,” Guinevere growls, seething, containing her anger so that it accumulates like steam in a covered pot. She can’t bear the sight of the ersatz clip that is clumsily substituted for her original. Her handmaidens bow their heads, not out of courtesy but out of fear. Even through her anger, the youngest heir of the Boruque family rejoiced in that knowledge.

“Whose idea was this?”

No answer.

“I asked a question.”

No answer.

“Which one of you is the head maid?”

The maidens shift and after much hesitation, a blonde spoke up, “I am, my lady. But it wasn’t my idea!”

“Take her away,” Guinevere’s order is swift and cold.

“It’s Emma’s! My lady, please-”

The maid’s plea falls on deaf ears and deaf she is to the whines of those beneath her. 

“Which one of you is Emma?”

“I am, my lady,” a maid with blue eyes replies. Her voice is calm, confident, almost like she is pleased. And Guinevere hates it. 

“Do the same to her. Beat her in front of the household, lest the others want to try something similar.”

She watches the maid’s expressions turn from content to fear. She does not plead like the first, but it’s obvious, her shock of failing to gain any favour from Guinevere. 

“The rest of you will not eat, sleep or drink until you find it.”

“But we’ve-”

A glare from the lady sends them away without another word. Alone now, Guinevere considers how strange it is that her brother hasn’t come to greet her. She isn’t a child. She knows people change, especially after such a long period of time as six years is, but she doubts her brother’s affection for her has. She simply can’t bear waiting anymore, so she goes to him instead, only to find his bedroom empty. A guard is there to inform her that he has not returned after a night of drinking. 

She finds her father in his study. He doesn’t bother to look up when she enters, nor when she sits down across the table. Uncomfortable with the silence, she speaks first, “I’m home, father.”

Still facing at the parchment on the desk, his gaze slowly shifts up. Guinevere wonders if she has said anything wrong. When she doesn’t say anything more, he looks down once again and the silence continues.

Guinevere tries, “It’s been six years since-”

“Yes, it has been six years and if you are planning on disrupting my time alone, it will be another six.”

She sharply exhales, “I apologise. I came to talk to you about two important matters-”

“Is one of them an explanation of why you ordered a beating of the two maids?”

She hesitates, “... No, but they wronged me, so-”

“And what was this… wrong?”

“... My favourite brooch appears to be missing while under their care, so-”

“So you ordered my guards to hit them?”

Guinevere has no answer to this.

“And if word gets out of this? ‘The daughter of the great Boruque house beat two unarmed women’. Our reputation has been severed by your brother’s  _ arrogance,  _ and now you are back, you plan to continue his legacy?”

“No, I-”

“So what is it that is so important, that you have to disturb me?” Her father straightens his back, “Go on.”

“Speaking of my brother, you’ve heard he’s disappeared.”

“He isn’t an animal, he can go wherever he wants.”

“But- to not return to welcome me, I-”

“Perhaps he’s grown a spine after these six years and finally realised he has higher priorities than his brat of a sister. If you consider acting more respectable, your brother might return to see you. Do not waste my time with unnecessary matters. What else do you have to say?”

Guinevere can feel her throat tighten, but she continues with the hope that her achievements may please him and as a result, her, “I graduated fourth in my cohort.”

He doesn’t reply, nor does he look amused.

“It’s quite a feat, considering…” Remembering his previous statement, she decides to omit that part, “They say that many warlock opportunities are opened to me. I’m considering-”

“No.”

She is taken aback by his swift, unexpected word, “But, why? Those positions are very prestigious-”

“The only position you will consider is marriage. You will turn fourteen this year, you need to marry.”

“But-”

He gets up to walk across the room, to a drawer full of scrolls, “The Paxleys are on the road now. They will arrive tomorrow morning along with your betrothed. Tell your remaining handmaidens to make you look presentable. If you had your brother’s face, you might have time to mess about.”

He marches out of the room, “Do not disappoint me more than you already have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.strawpoll.me/20878310/r
> 
> just a trial vote to see how many readers are active. an actual poll is coming soon~


	11. even though i see past the moon┋Miya

**2174 days, 12 hours, 15 minutes, 9 seconds  
**

Miya is awoken to the sound of horns. Not low like the ring of _arin_ ; it is instead shrill, thin and ear piercing. It meant more than just an irritant to the ear. She has never heard that sound, no elf has for nearly a century. Yet, the orphaned elves all exchange looks of knowing dread.

A caretaker bursts into the room. He is still in his under tunics, as abruptly awoken as the children were. He doesn't even need to speak before the hall of youths rush towards the narrow exit. Miya is one of the lucky ones ahead of the pack, only because her mattress is close to the door, and she is the first ones to see the sight.

Its rotting flesh emits so foul of a stench Miya didn't even know it was possible, like a malevolent mix of vomit and decomposing meat. The orc is slightly larger than the average elf yet it swung its great spiked cub with the strength of many more. It missed the elf it was aiming for but the force is enough to knock out a supporting pillar and send splintered marble flying. As if like a charm, the orc's attention turned to the crowd of kids. Taunts from the battling elves did little to bring its concentration back towards them; not even several arrows to its chest that did little to immobilise it.

Miya turns away, knowing the sight of the elves' fearful expression crushed under its cub cannot be scrapped away once it had been embedded into her memory. A guilt pools within her. It could've been her in that position. The other elves may say it is because the Moon Goddess has chosen to bathe her in the moonlight of mercy, but she can't shake of the unfairness in the situation. 

She reaches for the quiver of arrows. Her index and middle finger grasp a feather. If she shot it directly in the eye, she could stop its movements, even for just a few seconds. The thought is interrupted by a tight arm on her hand. 

"You'll only draw more attention towards us if you miss,. Then you'll cost even more trouble," Alarin says. The most silver of hair and the best at combat, though she has never shown affinity for much sympathy. Miya decides to follow her advice. 

The stables are filled with neighs and rough elvish tongue. Alarin leaps onto a horse already saddled for two riders. With little of the former's grace and speed, Miya struggles to push herself up. It's only with an annoyed hand that manage to commence. If they were just a few seconds later, they might have been caught up with the first orc to arrive at the stable entrance. 

From the other wings to her left, even lesser riders are in the open. The orphanage ranking is upholds honour in battle, the truest pride any moon elf could achieve. The children of high ranking officers and tortured war heroes, like Miya and Alarin, are put in the _culu_ wing with the fastest horses and the most skilled teachers. So if the orcs have already broken this deep, the other two wings are definitely not faring well.

She can't bear to watch it. Her parents died bravely in battle to protect their squad. If she did nothing while others died, they will never accept her in the Moon Goddess's tree. She nocks an arrow in her silver bow, the bow that her father wielded during his last stand and died, with it still clutched.

"Don't-" Alarin said, but she had already released. It hit, but not in the eye. The slim arrow seems trivial compared to the size of the orc. It is not set back by any means. In fact, before it had been feasting on a dead horse, but its sight is locked onto the two riders. 

"Your head is a crescent!" Alarin roared, "Daughter of the first general? Evidently, you take little after him."

Miya wants to disagree, to say that she puts all her pride in following in her father's footsteps, but the charging orc need not words to disprove the thread even before it had come out of her mouth. Alarin kicks the horse but it is at its limit. She never imagined orcs to be able to run this fast with their notable clumsiness and lack of agility. It was closing in quickly, faster than the speed at full gallop. 

Alarin whips around, "Well? Better off trying to slow it now, isn't it?"

Miya's nerves get the better of her when she fumbles to nock another arrow. It drops onto the quickly retreating ground. Not being allowed a third full bounce before the wood is snappedd into half by the step of the orc. Her eyes drag up from its feet to its head. A large, ugly, bulging thing that wanted little more than blood. 

It pulls on the horse's tail and yanks it back. They all skirt to the side. Miya falls harder and further than Alarin does. The orc is looming over the other girl. 

She feels guilty for thinking this: better someone else than her. If she uses the time Alarin's death will buy her, she might make it to the first barrier of the Lunar Aegis. She looks back. But her life for another, can she really do that?

* * *

** CHOICE **

HELP

or 

FLEE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 11: http://www.strawpoll.me/21081987


End file.
